


Coded

by zeilfanaat



Series: Language Series [6]
Category: NCIS, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Jack O'Neill knows more than he lets on..., Mystery, Smart Jack O'Neill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeilfanaat/pseuds/zeilfanaat
Summary: #6 in Language Series. Whenever sensitive information needs to be conveyed between a certain retired Marine and a certain Air Force officer, they meet over coffee. To the casual listener, their conversations are rather superficial. But these men like their coffee strong, and both their cake and conversations layered… (Regarding the crossover: no worries if you only know one).





	1. Easy as Pie

**Author's Note:**

> It started out with just another idea for my SG-1 Language series: get Jack to talk in some kind of code, which is really a language on its own. It kind of got out of hand (see notes at the end of the story), and somehow this ended up more NCIS than I expected. Should still be fun for fans of either of the two series, even if you haven’t seen the other one. And even though this is #6 of the Language Series, you don’t have to read the others to follow this one. (Of course, if you want, do go ahead: Homework Secrets, Family Secrets, A Birthday Colonel, Comfort Food, and Cultural Exchange preceded this one). Enjoy!
> 
> While this story consists of a couple of chapters, they are actually unrelated except for the two people involved.
> 
> Many thanks to DorothyOz for looking this story over!! I really appreciate it!

They hadn’t seen each other in years. But when the other man had called to arrange to meet for coffee, just when he was stuck on this particular case, he didn’t hesitate. Which was why he’d headed for the elevators as soon as he’d hung up.

“Going for coffee,” was his only explanation to his team. The other man was already there, sprawled in one of those French bistro chairs like he hadn’t a care in the world. He knew better.

“Cake?” he asked as he sat down across from the older man. He noted the man’s hair colour, and tried not to think too much about his own greying locks.

“Hmmm, apple pie.” The reply was accompanied by a look of sheer bliss.

He looked down at the table where two steaming cups of coffee stood. Just one piece of pie though.

“None for me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, as he took a sip of his coffee.

The other man grinned. “Actually, this is for you.” He pushed the plate to the middle of the table. “I already ate mine,” he confided.

“Just how many pieces of cake have you had?” he asked suspiciously.

“Today? Just the one, I promise,” the other man said slightly defensively. Then he added a little sheepishly, “I might have had one or two yesterday…and another one the day before.”

“Seriously?” 

_That made four in just three..._

“I can safely say this is your only piece of the week then,” the other man quipped. 

_...weeks._

“Ya think?” He still hadn’t made a move for the piece of cake, although he was working his way steadily through his cup of coffee. It was good; strong, just the way he liked it.

“Could you just hurry up and eat that cake? If you don’t, I will,” his companion threatened.

Contemplating the piece of apple pie that still stood waiting in the middle of the table, the retired Marine eventually sighed, and pushed it back the way it had come.

_With this one, apparently that made five._

“Go ahead.” At the smug look of delight on the other man’s face, he sent him a glare, and grumbled, “You just had to pick apple pie.” 

“Yeah, sure ya betcha.” The man waved over the waitress and asked for some whipped cream. 

_Hmm, okay, that was something at least. Still, this place made a mean apple pie!_

“You’re paying for this,” he told the grey-haired man. The man didn’t seem concerned, picking up the lone fork that had remained on his side of the table the whole time.

* * *

There was a ding from the elevator as the doors opened, and doctor Mallard approached his desk. Gibbs had already sent the rest of the team home.

“Ah, Jethro, I was looking for you. There are a couple of people from the Air Force, and they’ve asked me to hand over the body of the unfortunate Major, as well as all the evidence we’ve gathered.”

Gibbs looked up and gave a short nod. “Yeah. I know.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” the medical examiner asked.

“Give ‘em what they want, Duck. I already did.”

“You did what?” The doctor sounded completely in shock. Apparently Gibbs would have to give some kind of explanation.

“The Air Force was already investigating four murders. There were two last week, one the week before, and another one this week. Same killer as the one who killed our Major.”

“Are you sure it was the same killer?”

Gibbs nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, surely, if you want, we could make a case that the murderer has moved on to our jurisdiction?” Ducky tried.

Gibbs tilted his head from one side to the other, and thought of whipped cream. “They caught the killer. They want justice just as much as we do. If not more. Case closed.”

There was a moment of silence.

“It’s not like you to just hand over an investigation, Jethro,” Ducky said, giving the Special Agent a searching look.

“I know, Duck.” Jethro sighed; he’d have to give his friend a little more information. “Look, I know the person in charge. He’ll make sure the murderer is properly put away.” He rose and looked the medical examiner straight in the eyes. “Trust me on this, Duck.”

Whatever Ducky saw in his eyes, it was enough, as the older man gave in. “Alright. I’ll go down and make sure it’s all handed over.”

“Thanks, Duck.” Gibbs reached over to switch off his computer, and grabbed his coat. Time to head home himself.

Ducky was on his way back to the elevator when he was hit with a bout of inspiration. He turned around. “You didn’t happen to flip a coin over it, did you?” he asked.

Gibbs grinned, thinking of the fork – like he’d ever had a chance! – and shook his head.

“Nah, Ducky. We talked it out. Easy as pie.”

**End Chapter 1**


	2. Not My Cup of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An NCIS case brings up memories for Gibbs to an old Black Op. One that doesn’t bode well for a certain Air Force officer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to DorothyOz for looking over this story!! 
> 
> Have a great Easter everyone!

Gibbs watched as a familiar face flashed on the screen. One he officially knew nothing about. He listened as his team informed him about the man and his likely motives. Russian, loose cannon, apparently looking for revenge although they knew nothing about a potential target. The man was currently multitasking as it seemed he was also looking for ‘business opportunities’ while he was stateside. They couldn’t pin anything on the man…yet. Gibbs ordered his team to start digging, and to keep an eye on the Russian’s whereabouts.

Seeing that they were all busy, Gibbs pulled his cell phone out and dialled a number he knew by heart, despite not using it that often.

“Hey. Happen to be in the area?” There was a moment where surprise was visible on his face. “Want to catch up over coffee? … Ok, see you there.”

* * *

It took him longer than he’d have liked to get away from the White House, but eventually he managed, claiming a desperate need for fresh air. Huh, wasn’t that the truth. He hated politics. And despite this being only a short visit to the nation’s capital, he appreciated the break. Of course, considering who’d called him, he might not enjoy it quite so much in a few minutes, even if he did like the man’s company.

As he sauntered up to the bistro table, his eyes made a quick sweep of the surroundings.

Gibbs did not call him often. If he did, it was usually to ask for intel. This time it was clear he was the one with the information, and it was urgent.

“No cake?” He asked, sitting down opposite the NCIS Special Agent. He really didn’t have to work at being disappointed. A slice of Black Forest cake for example would have gone a long way in improving his politics-induced mood.

“Nope.”

Hmm, well, at least the man had already ordered coffee. He brought the cup up to his face, then stopped the movement abruptly.

“Tea?!” he asked accusingly.

A raised eyebrow. “I have it on good authority that it’s supposed to be healthier.” He shrugged. “This one’s supposed to be pretty good. Careful though, it’s still hot.”

Suspiciously, O’Neill looked at the other man and carefully took a sip, keeping the warning in mind. It really wasn’t as hot as it probably had been, but still hot enough. Was that Earl Grey? Hmm, no, this was sweeter… with a whiff of lemon. Russian Earl Grey. Jack made a face.

“Ugh. Really? I thought we’d discussed this once and for all already. Whatever made you think I would like this?”

“Never said anything about liking it. Just watching out for your health.”

“Right,” Jack said, sarcasm shining through, still looking at the cup of tea in disgust. He watched Gibbs reach for his own cup. “Hold it!” This was important.

The retired Marine waited while the Air Force officer looked at the contents of Gibbs’ drink. “You got coffee for yourself?!!” He cried out indignantly. Good. That was good.

Gibbs shrugged. “Figured one of us should enjoy what we’re drinking today. Besides, all you seem to do nowadays is ride a desk. I still need my coffee to actually get work done.” 

That was all fine and good, but he wanted more information. 

The NCIS special agent received a glare from the man opposite. “Have you been talking to my aide? He’s forever trying to get me to drink less coffee.”

Gibbs grinned, but said nothing.

“You know I’ve been managing him just fine! No need to butt in as well.”

“Really?” Gibbs asked, sarcasm clear in his voice. ‘How did a Brigadier General manage to look so petulant?’ he thought. 

The other man got a scheming look in his eyes. Perhaps he could join in on this investigation.

“Hmm. You think I could develop an allergy for tea? I wonder how long allergies take to develop.”

Raising an eyebrow, Gibbs smiled. “Well, whenever you manage to convince your aide that you’re allergic for tea, let me know. Until then, you’ll only get tea from me.” 

Gibbs was in for the long haul then… and intent on keeping him out of it.

“Traitor.”

“Your aide is scary, Jack,” Gibbs allowed.

O’Neill slumped a little. “Yeah…” 

He hated not being in control.

* * *

“Still tea?” The Air Force officer complained, glaring at the cup in front of him.

“Yeah.” The clear disgust in the other man’s tone had Jack look up. To his surprise, Gibbs was currently glaring at his own steaming cup. With interest, Jack checked the beverage.

“I thought you said you wanted one of us to enjoy our drink. I can assure you, it won’t be me. Since when do you enjoy drinking tea?”

“I don’t,” was the short reply. Then reluctantly, the other man added, “Your aide apparently decided to widen his field, and now somehow he has me drinking the stuff too.”

It really wasn’t funny. Apparently, the Russian terrorist that Gibbs had warned him about, who had only been after Jack at first, was now also after Gibbs. Not good.

Still, Gibbs’ disgusted face made Jack smirk.

“Think he’s been planning this?” Poor Walter, unknowingly cast into the role of a persistent, pestering aide to an Air Force officer with an apparently unhealthy addiction to coffee. Come to think of it, it really wasn’t that far off the truth. 

Back to the conversation.

“Nah, I think it’s because I tried to intervene on your behalf… tried to convince him coffee really isn’t that bad for you.” Hmm, well, at least it seemed that, even though the Russian had decided to take revenge on Jack for that long-ago Black Op, he was still as much in the dark about the connection between that same Op and Gibbs as they had wanted him to be.

“You really shouldn’t have,” Jack said sincerely. He appreciated Gibbs looking out for him, but he spent most of his time underneath a mountain. “You could drink coffee you know. It’s not like he’ll know.” Perhaps if Gibbs backed off, the terrorist would re-focus on Jack.

Yeah right. He should have known; Gibbs and backing off really didn’t go together.

“I don’t think so, Jack.” Gibbs shook his head. “You have one scary aide.”

* * *

He hadn’t heard from Gibbs in a while, and he certainly didn’t expect to see him in Colorado Springs. Yet, there he was, in his house, looking a little worse for wear but alive. Didn’t look up from perusing the newspaper in front of him either.

“Door was unlocked,” he said by way of greeting. Jack shrugged. Neither of them had much use for keys. Then he spotted something.

“Cake?” And smelled something. “And coffee??”

Gibbs nodded, folding the newspaper and putting it aside. “You’re right. It’s not like your aide’s going to find out. And if he does, I’ll tell him to whom I’ve given my tea stash.” He cringed. “Ducky discovered the way I brewed tea and made me hand it over. I figured he can handle your aide if it should come to it.”

He nodded at the tea. “Was hoping the cake would serve to make up for the lost coffee.”

Jack grinned. “I’ll drink and eat to that.”

So, the terrorist was in the tender hands of the coroner. Case closed. Coffee, cake and pleasant company. Life was good.

**End of chapter 2**


	3. Piece of Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Special Agent needs information regarding a murdered Marine. It just so happens that the man who might have the best information about the case is now living in D.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to DorothyOz for looking over this story!!
> 
> And thanks to everyone who commented, left kudos or let me know in other ways that you enjoyed the story.

The grey-haired man raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from his informant.

“No cake?” That was...unexpected. And annoying. Just like the whole case, which his team had inherited. 

The taller, silver-haired man looked downright miserable as he glared down at his empty coffee cup.

“No cake,” he spoke sombrely. “Doctor’s orders.” He looked up and waved over the waitress, who poured both of them a cup of coffee. Gibbs leaned back in his chair; apparently there was more than just the intel that they were after the wrong guy. 

“You know, I’m considering switching doctors. This guy just doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” His brown eyes gave his companion a searching look. “How about your doc? Think he could take me on as a patient?”

Gibbs tilted his head slightly, and replied with characteristic bluntness. “His patients are usually dead.” There was a question in his eyes.

The other man lazily waved away his objection. “You’re still alive. I think I’ll take the risk.” The man raised his coffee cup to his face and inspected the contents. After a long look, he dipped his finger into the cooling liquid, and fished out an invisible speck of dirt. Satisfied, he took a gulp. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

He straightened up. “What about if I bring your doc a piece of cake? Ya know, so he can see for himself how good it is…” There was a hopeful look on his face. Now that sounded promising.

The retired Marine took a sip of his own coffee, and shrugged. “If you think that will convince him…” He was actually pretty pleased about the in person delivery. As well as intrigued. It sounded as if this was personal to the Air Force officer. 

“Oh yeah, I’ll make sure to bring the really good stuff. Chocolate. Double chocolate, hmmm.” A look of pleasure crossed the man’s face, which had Gibbs roll his eyes in amusement. He was about to finish the rest of his coffee in one big gulp, when he noticed the brown eyes measuring him up. Whatever the man was looking for, he apparently found it, because he asked, “How far are you with that boat of yours?”

Interesting.

“Finished that one. Started a new one.”

“Hmm. We should go fishing again. Haven’t done that in ages.”

Gibb’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “You actually have time for that?” he asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

“Oh yeah,” the other man grinned. “I’m a Major General now. I get to delegate. Come on, it’ll be like old times. I know just the place too! My cabin, nice pond… What do you say?”

There was a moment of silence as the Special Agent considered. Then he nodded. “I’m in.”

“Splendid!” The General leaned back and finished his coffee, before looking at his watch. With a sigh, he added apologetically, “Got to go. Delegating doesn’t do itself. It was good seeing you again. I’ll be in touch.”

Gibbs watched as the man walked away with a nonchalant step, which despite appearances did not fail to eat up the distance. Throwing back the remaining coffee, Gibbs deposited some bills on the table, then he walked off too, in the opposite direction from where he’d come.

Without hesitation, he opened the door of the car and slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Sleeping on the job, DiNozzo?” he asked, without turning around.

Immediately Tony sat up in the backseat, trying to cover up his sheepishness at having been caught. “No Boss, I’m sorry, Boss… How did you know I was here?”

This time, Gibbs did turn around to level a stare at his senior field agent.

“Right, Boss, shutting up now.”

“Good. Now get behind the wheel. Unless you want Ziva to drive.”

Tony’s face went blank. “Ziva, Boss?”

“Yeah, Ziva. The former Mossad agent who will have lost her quarry by now. She should be here any minute, and I want to get back to the office, so get moving, DiNozzo.”

Despite the impatience that was clear in his boss’s tone, Tony chuckled. “Boss, we’re talking Ziva David here. She won’t have los-” Just then his cell phone rang. Seeing the caller display, he carefully schooled his features. “Yeah?”

_“Tony, I lost him.”_ The frustration came through loud and clear. Tony’s eyes flitted over to Gibbs. “Eh, copy that. Hurry back. Gibbs wants to get back to NCIS.”

He could hear her mentally change tracks. _“On my way.”_ A click signalled the end of the conversation.

“DiNozzo, get behind the wheel, or _I_ will be driving.”

The threat was sufficient to have Tony scramble to get into the driver’s seat. Less than a minute later, Ziva slid into the back and started ranting.

“That man is hiding something. He must have had specialised training. There is no way an old man like him would have gotten away from me otherwise.”

Gibbs frowned and turned to look at her. “ _Old_ , Ziva?”

Failing to take the hint, or perhaps just ignoring it in favour of venting her frustrations, Ziva rolled her eyes. “I did not mean ‘old’ per se. Just, older. I mean, the man’s knees are obviously not in great condition, and,-”

“Ziva!” Tony interrupted, turning to give her a meaningful look, willing her to stop digging herself a deeper hole.

“Just how old do you think he is, David?” Gibbs questioned, his laser-like stare aimed straight at the Israeli woman.

“ _Much_ older than you, Gibbs,” Ziva said swiftly. She had gotten the message at last.

“Much older, Boss,” Tony agreed. Trying for nonchalance, he threw out the question. “Just out of curiosity, how old is he?”

Gibbs turned back to stare out of the front of the window. “Just drive, DiNozzo.”

“Got it, Boss.” He started the engine and they were soon on their way back to the Navy Yard.

“So, did the…eh, guy have any intel on our case?”

Gibbs grunted. “Lieutenant Colonel Davis didn’t do it.”

“You sure?” Tony insisted. “Because so far, that’s who the evidence points to.”

“I’m sure.”

“What? Just because this mystery guy says so?” Ziva argued from the back seat. “Which he did not, by the way! All he cared about was cake and fishing.”

“He’s bringing evidence to support that to Ducky,” Gibbs added. Apparently Ziva still wasn’t convinced.

“Is this one of those ‘semper fi’ things?” she questioned.

“He did not look like a Marine,” Tony disagreed, risking a quick glance at the passenger seat.

“No,” Gibbs agreed quietly, apparently even a little amused.

“Well if he told you all this, it was not apparent. He must have been in some specific branch of the military. Special Forces perhaps,” Ziva persisted. “The man got away from me within thirty seconds.”

“Maybe you’re getting slow,” Tony suggested with a grin. Immediately he got a punch to the shoulder from behind. “Ouch! Stop that, I’m driving here!”

“Then stop making foolish suggestions, Tony. He must have known we were watching.”

“Ya think?” Gibbs agreed.

“We were careful, Boss,” Tony argued. “It’s one thing for you to know we were there, but-“

“DiNozzo, if I knew you were there, he definitely knew you were there.”

Tony looked over in surprise. Then he grinned. “Nah, no one beats your gut feeling, Boss.”

“Not talking about gut feelings, DiNozzo. But if anyone can spot a tail,” Gibbs shook his head, “it’s him.” Him and Callen. Hmm. Toss-up. The younger man’s unfortunate childhood probably gave the undercover agent a slight edge over the former Black Ops officer in that area. Maybe. Both were paranoid bastards. Very alike in some ways, very different in others. After they’d get past the paranoia though, they’d probably get on like a house on fire. Hmmm. He might have to introduce the two. Gibbs narrowed his eyes in thought. Maybe even sooner rather than later. 

Tony threw surreptitious looks towards the passenger side of the car. You had to really know the man to hear it, but his tone held a level of respect that was unusual for Gibbs. If Gibbs was aware of his glances, he didn’t let on.

Gibbs cast his mind back over the conversation he’d just had.

_No cake_. Lieutenant Colonel Paul Davis was not the murderer. _Chocolate._ And soon they would have evidence to support that. The actual body, instead of just the coroner’s report provided by this NID. _Double chocolate._ As well as a possible lead to whoever had done it. Gibbs wasn’t worried about the lead not panning out; the General – really, he was a _Major_ General now? – had always come through. No, what worried him was the invitation to go fishing…

_My cabin, nice pond._

That pond was empty. If they were going fishing there, the only fish they’d find was one that didn’t belong there.

_Like old times._

It was going to be one of those: under the radar, no one to trust but a select few, and very high stakes…

Gibbs worked his jaw, looking out the window without really seeing the scenery.

He had agreed to be part of it. He could have said no. But there was the kicker; the other man did not often ask for back-up. Gibbs had given it on occasion, even if Jack had tried to get him to back off. This time though, Jack had asked. If Jack O’Neill invited you to come fish in his pond, it meant there were really big fish to fry.

Gibbs’s eyes narrowed. Ok. That was it then. Time to get the fishing rods out. The retired Marine and the former Black Ops officer were going fishing.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Right… You know how sometimes stories take on a life of their own? This is one of them. It started out with just another idea for my SG-1 Language series: get Jack to talk in some kind of code, which is really a language on its own.  
>  I should have grown suspicious when Gibbs volunteered to sit down at a table and join Jack’s coded conversation. It seemed like a good idea at the time: they’re about the same age; I could see them having done a secret op or two together where they would have needed some kind of code. Gibbs may be a man of few words, but he’s great at picking up nuances in body language; Jack is a master in talking a lot without saying anything, and vice versa. Perfect match! Gibbs could meet Jack in D.C. over a cup of coffee; they’d chat over some normal, everyday thing, which conveys a message only understood between the two of them. Voila! Done. So, I started writing ‘Piece of Cake’ (chapter 3).  
> And then all of a sudden Jack just keeps talking and recruits Gibbs for a big secret mission!  
> And then I discover that Tony and Ziva had decided to tail Gibbs, and… well, you know how that worked out. So suddenly I was left with a story that was more NCIS than SG-1, although apparently the NCIS case was tied in with someone trying to implicate Paul Davis… and Jack knows all about it… and more. And don’t ask me about that secret mission, because Jack’s not talking. Well, not to me at least!   
> Anyway, then I wanted to see a bit more of the coded conversations between Gibbs and O’Neill, so I wrote the other chapters. And that’s how I ended up with this story. Hope you enjoyed it! I certainly had fun. Even if I’m slightly miffed at O’Neill and Gibbs for keeping me out of the loop. 
> 
> **A/N2:** If you have any questions regarding the code, let me know. I'll help out as much as Gibbs and Jack will allow. If you don't hear from me... please send in the cavalry! Thanks!
> 
> **A/N3:** For those enjoying the language series, fear not, I am not finished playing in this particular sandbox. More stories will follow, and it shouldn't take another 2.5 years before the next one's posted either. You should have time for a cup of coffee while you wait though. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope the code language is not too convoluted…


End file.
